


Moon Voyager

by peppertree



Category: maxtul, พฤติการณ์ที่ตาย | Manner of Death (TV), พฤติการณ์ที่ตาย | Manner of Death (TV) RPF
Genre: BL, Boys Kissing, Crimes & Criminals, First Kiss, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Sexual Tension, Thailand, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, ghost ship - Freeform, mafia, manner of death, พฤติการณ์ที่ตาย
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppertree/pseuds/peppertree
Summary: As Dr. Bun and teacher Tan get romantic while investigating the murder of Jane, Inspector M. (aka Sarawat), the police officer in charge of the case, and Dr. Oat, Dr. Bun's apprentice, get their own story too.The ghost ship you didn't know you needed until now.
Relationships: Max Nattapol Diloknawarit/Tul Pakorn Thanasrivanitchai, MaxTul - Relationship, Sarawat/Oat, Tan Wirapong Inkhamvieng/Bun Bunnakit Songsakdina
Comments: 34
Kudos: 122





	1. The Moon In His Hands

It was a warm and quiet night in the hospital of Viangpha Mork. No emergencies so far, all patients seemed to be sleeping soundly, as well as the few nurses on call. The only sounds, the only sign that there was someone with their eyes still open, came from the staff room at the end of the hall. The almost inaudible clicking of a keyboard and the feeble light coming from the half open door was what guided Inspector M. through the shadows, like a lost fly attracted to a lightbulb.

Dr. Oat was looking aimlessly at the screen, filling in patient reports. He had to fight the weight of his eyelids, a constant reminder that he needed a rest that he hadn’t earned just yet. Just a few more documents and he would let himself go to sleep. Only three. Or maybe two. Or just one.

_ Dr. Bun is very nice, but him leaving me alone to do all the paperwork… that’s just evil _ , he thought.  _ I bet he’s sound asleep in his comfy bed right now. _

(For the record, Dr. Bun was indeed in a comfy bed at the moment. He wasn’t sleeping, though. And he was not in  _ his _ bed. He was wide awake, and would still be for a little while. But that detail, Dr. Oat didn’t know.)

Inspector M. got his ear close to the door and listened carefully. Keyboard clicking. An audible sigh. More typing. An angry “why?”. A soft “oh, no”. Keyboard stabbing now.

Inspector M. breathed in and out twice, found the courage to get inside a room he wasn’t supposed to be in, placed his big hand on the doorknob and pushed the door gently. With a swift and quiet movement, he got inside and closed the door behind him.

A stethoscope hit his face immediately, accompanied by a hysteric scream. He stepped back and hit his shoulder against a shelf, dropping some books and breaking the peaceful silence of the night.

“Sarawat! What are you doing here?!”, said poor Dr. Oat in a broken voice from across the room. He had stood up and he was covering his chest with both his arms. His eyes were widely open, his eyelids as light as feathers now. His audible breath was unsteady and way too fast. 

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘welcome’”, mumbled Inspector M. holding his shoulder with his hand and slowly getting closer to Dr. Oat.

“You’re not welcome”, spat the doctor, straightening his gown.

Oat saw Sarawat’s face darken, his eyes throwing knives at him. He wasn’t on duty, as he wasn’t wearing his brown police uniform. Instead, he was wearing black well-fitted jeans and a grey plain t-shirt. His clothes revealed enough of his figure for the viewer to appreciate a robust body with firm muscles, shaped by the police training but probably maintained by daily gym sessions. His hair was down, as opposed to his duty toupee.

_ I like his hair better like that _ , Dr. Oat found himself thinking.

He sat back on his chair and switched off his laptop without breaking eye contact with the inspector from across the table. He knew why he was here. And he knew that he knew why he was here. They needn’t say it out loud, words were superfluous.

“So?”, asked Sarawat. He took a few steps and placed himself behind the doctor’s chair. He leaned himself towards Oat, placing a hand on the bare skin between his shoulder and his neck and squeezing slightly.

Dr. Oat’s pulse started to race as he stared at Inspector M.’s reflection on the black screen of the laptop. He saw his head move down slowly, until his mouth was right next to his ear. When their gazes met in their reflections on the screen, Oat shook his head lightly and drew a silent “no” with his lips.

_ Bun will kill me if I give Sarawat the autopsy report _ , Oat kept telling himself.

“I know you have it”, the inspector whispered. The warmth of his words against his earlobe gave him a shiver.

“I can’t give it to you”, answered Dr. Oat, and he gave himself the pleasure of placing his own hand against Sarawat’s hand on his shoulder for just a second before shaking himself free of his grip.

Inspector M. withdrew himself. He watched the doctor’s back go up and down as he breathed in and out deeply and his hand brushed the area of his neck where his own hand had been a moment ago.

He walked to the small window on the far end of the room and watched outside. The wind was moving the branches of the trees in front of the hospital, as if they were dancing to a slow song in the middle of a golden ball room. The sky was clear.

Dr. Oat regarded Sarawat’s posture as he looked at an unknown point in the sky. His jaw appeared sharper against the feeble light coming from outside, the skin of his neck seemed soft as it shone almost white. His grey t-shirt didn’t hide his back muscles, somewhat tense, somewhat relaxed. He changed his weight from one leg to the other, moving his hips; a quick movement that grabbed Oat’s attention. His eyes followed the line of the inspector’s spine and lingered on his butt. It was full and nicely shaped, probably from focused training, and it seemed firm to the touch. Not that he was in any way interested in feeling it or anything of the sort, of course not. Who would? It was Sarawat’s butt we were talking about.

“There’s a full moon today, have you seen it?”, voiced Inspector M., still looking outside.

“Yes, I see it”, replied Oat, his glance unable to escape the inspector’s behind, as if it had a gravitational force.

“I haven’t seen the moon this big in a while”, added Sarawat.

“Me neither”, commented Oat, his eyes still stuck in the same spot, they didn’t want to stop looking.  _ He _ didn’t want to stop looking.

A few minutes went by, both of them enjoying their own particular views of the moon in silence.

“The moon, huh?”, Sarawat’s voice ended Oat’s trance. He stood up immediately and hurried to look at his face. The inspector was staring at him funny. He could feel how the skin on his own cheeks and ears was starting to boil all of a sudden.

Inspector M. let go a little chuckle as he bit his lip and combed his fringe with his fingers, distracted, and smiled. Oat swallowed the saliva he had forgotten to swallow during the last five minutes. He noticed the other man’s confident smile and he couldn’t help but smile as well.

Sarawat took the four steps that were keeping them apart and stood right in front of Dr. Oat, holding his gaze. He was just a few centimeters taller than the doctor.

Oat blocked his impulse of stepping back and looked into the inspector’s eyes, whose pupils dilated almost unnoticeably. He knew what that eye reaction meant. He had learned about it in one of his physiology classes in university. Or was it in psychology? Or in ophthalmology? Anyhow, that didn’t matter. With that Greek sculpture of a man in front of him at 2 a.m. in a small hospital lost in the middle of nowhere, where he had learnt that pupil dilation can mean physical attraction didn’t matter in the slightest.

“So?”, Sarawat whispered, without breaking eye contact. Then, he moved just a bit closer and placed his right hand on Oat’s side, holding him delicately, as a sign for the doctor to move away if he wanted to. But alas, he didn’t want to move away. If anything, he wanted to move closer. He felt the urge to move closer.

So he did.

He followed his instinct. He obeyed the voice in his head, urging him to kiss the inspector, to forget that he was the inspector.

Their lips collided. First tentatively, at a slow pace, tasting, learning each other’s mouth. Then faster, with a need none of them knew they had, a newly awoken craving.

Sarawat put his hands on the small of Oat’s back, drawing their torsos closer. Oat, in turn, placed his arms around Sarawat’s neck, his fingers racing around the inspector’s hair, pulling gently.

Their breaths got faster, as if they were trying to inhale each other, to have each other in any way possible.

Unexpectedly, Inspector M. broke the kiss and looked at Dr. Oat, face red, eyes wide open. He bit his own lip and looked at Oat’s mouth, then down his half open gown.

_ What have I done? _ , panicked Oat.  _ What have we done? _

Then, the other man grabbed him by the waist, raised him with his weight-lifting arms and sat him on the table right next to the laptop. Right where the so-desired autopsy report waited, still uncompleted. They ignored the laptop. Who cared about the damned autopsy report now? Not Sarawat, who couldn’t have enough of Oat’s body’s feel against his own. Not Oat, who couldn’t have enough of Sarawat’s taste in his mouth.

Now the doctor was on the table, his legs at both sides of the inspector’s waist. They looked at each other one more time before resuming their kissing, now deeper, if that was possible. Oat let his hands fall all over Sarawat’s back, feeling every muscle, every fiber, until he got to his butt. Round, firm, full, like the moon. For a moment, it was his. The moon in his hands.

Inspector M.’s lips released Oat’s, only for them to search for his neck, right below his jawline, which took the doctor by surprise and made him release a half-suppressed moan. Sarawat’s hand slipped from Oat’s waist and his fingers touched the laptop, the screen still up. He found the on button and clicked it to wake up the computer.

The idea was not as brilliant as it seemed, though, as the loud welcoming tune of the operating system startled them both. Oat looked around, disoriented, only to see the password screen of the computer. He slapped the screen shut and lifted Sarawat’s head, which had been resting, ashamed, on his shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?”, spat Dr. Oat, pushing Inspector M. away from him.

Inspector M. leaned against the wall, looking at him with sad eyes, unable to find the right words. He’d been wanting to be there, with him, for a long time, and when he had gotten him, he blew it. His duty blew it. The pressure his boss was putting on him blew it.

“Answer me!”, shouted Oat, still on the table.

Sarawat took a step towards him, staring at him, ‘sorry’ written across his forehead.

The doctor raised his hand, commanding him to stop. “No”, he murmured.

The inspector nodded and bowed his head. “Okay”, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking straight”.

“Of course you weren’t”, commented Oat.

_ Not the time for a gay joke, Oat _ , he thought to himself.

“I just want you to know”, continued Sarawat, looking directly into Dr. Oat’s eyes, “that I didn’t come here to steal the report from you. I wasn’t using you. I can prove-”.

“You don’t have to prove anything”, interrupted the other, a pity smile on his face. “I understand”, he added.

“You do?”, asked the inspector, a tiny bit of hope in his heart.

“I do. But please, go”, he replied, and pointed at the door.

Sarawat walked up to the door slowly. He really didn’t want to leave, but he had to. He had blown it. When he got there, he turned around and looked at the doctor again, on the table with the same posture, legs wide open still.

“The report might be finished tomorrow”, he said. “You can try your luck again then”.

Sarawat’s heart skipped a beat and smiled sweetly at Oat who, in turn, gave him a seductive gaze.

“See you tomorrow, then”, said the inspector.

“Same time, same place”, said the doctor.

Then Sarawat opened the door and left, the darkness swallowing him, this time getting away from the light of the staff room at the end of the hall.

Oat, alone once more, touched his lips still wet with his fingers and looked out the window. The moon was indeed full tonight, the brightest dot in the sky. After, he looked at his hands. They still kept the feeling of what they had been grabbing just a minute ago.

_ Wow _ , he thought.

Once again, it was a warm and quiet night in the hospital of Viangpha Mork.


	2. A Daylight Moon

It was a hot and busy morning in the hospital of Viangpha Mork. The nurses were occupied going up and down the halls, the doctors were visiting their patients and a few people were sitting in the waiting room. The sun was shining bright outside, no clouds to be seen in the sky. The birds were chirping, announcing a good day ahead.

The coffee machine in the hall had been running non-stop all morning, providing the staff of the hospital with the bitter elixir that fueled their engines, that kept them awake and alert. The only two people who couldn’t keep their eyes open were Dr. Bun and Dr. Oat, both staring at the now empty machine that was filling up Dr. Bun’s coffee cup with almost clear water. He wouldn’t drink this disappointment of a beverage. The doctor and his apprentice let go a depressing sigh in unison.

“Well, I need some coffee”, mumbled Oat, his eyes following the steam coming out of the hot disheartening liquid in the cup.

“Why? Didn’t you sleep last night?”, wondered Bun, both his hands on his hips, “The nurses said tonight had been a quiet one”, he added.

“You made me fill in some reports, remember?”, Oat defended himself, rubbing his eyes.

Bun lowered his head and giggled to himself. He then looked at his apprentice with the brightest smile he could offer. “You didn’t have to fill them  _ all _ in, you know I told you that”, he said.

“Yeah, yeah”, answered Oat, “but he…”. Images of the staff room past midnight flashed in his mind. A wistful look through the dark screen of the laptop. A jawline lit by the moonlight. A grey t-shirt. The moon in the sky, and the one in the room. His own weight on the wooden table.

“Who is he?”, Bun’s voice snapped Oat out of his daydreaming. He took his cup out of the coffee machine and threw it in the bin next to it. He didn’t want to look at its contents.

“No one”, Oat replied hurriedly, “And why do you need the coffee anyway? Didn’t  _ you _ sleep?”, he added, trying to get the topic away from him.

Dr. Bun started coughing all of a sudden, apparently choking on his own saliva. He kept avoiding the curious gaze of the apprentice, who had started to hit him gently on the back. When he recovered his posture, he buttoned his gown and stood up straight. “Let’s go, we have some work to do today”, he ignored Oat’s question.

The apprentice laughed guiltily and nodded, obedient. “Okay, okay, let’s go”, he said.

When the two doctors turned around with the intention of going to the autopsy room, Oat heard the main door of the hospital open. He looked in said direction only to marvel at the sight of Inspector M. wearing his light brown duty uniform: brown button-up shirt with some motifs and two pockets in the chest, brown police cap hiding his eyes slightly, brown pants just a little bit too tight around his thighs. By the way, next to him came another police officer, not that the apprentice noticed nor cared.

Dr. Bun had seen them both, and had taken a few steps towards them, leaving Oat behind, still in front of the coffee machine in the hall.

Sarawat’s eyes wandered over Oat’s face and met his eyes just for a second. His expression couldn’t be read, there was no perceptible emotion in his neutral stare. He then looked at Dr. Bun and stopped in front of him, defiantly.

“I have nothing to give you”, attacked Dr. Bun calmly.

“It’s been several days, doctor”, replied the inspector in a relaxed manner.

“Just wait a few more days then, Inspector”, said the doctor, defiant.

“Why are you so slow in the report?”, asked Sarawat. He was starting to get irritated. “Is this negligence of duty?”, he asked.

“Someone who intends to modify the report is committing negligence of duty, don’t you think?”, Bun’s counterattack made the inspector’s expression change a bit.

“You should get rid of your prejudice, doctor. I’m only acting according to the evidence we have”, he replied.

The inspector and the doctor kept discussing for a few minutes. Small threats were made, none of them wanted to step back. Dr. Oat contemplated the discussion from afar. Sarawat’s posture was showing dominance, enhanced by the uniform he was wearing, which gave him more power.

_ He looked hotter yesterday, but I don’t mind the uniform either _ , thought Oat. He immediately wondered what was wrong with his sub-consciousness. Was he attracted to him?  _ Yes _ , he admitted to himself, there was no need to lie about that. Did he actually like him?  _ I don’t know _ , was the answer. He didn’t even know him that well. He knew his name, he knew what his job was, but what else? What did he enjoy? How did he like his coffee in the morning? Did he even like coffee?  _ I don’t know him _ , he realized.

“Let’s go to work, Oat”, Dr. Bun went to him and patted his shoulder, hurrying him to head to the autopsy room. The apprentice saw Sarawat turn around and head to the door. His eyes, inevitably, went directly to his butt, the moon that had been in the staff room at midnight was now out in broad daylight. A daylight moon. And it was getting smaller and smaller, as the inspector was leaving the hospital.

Oat started walking in the same direction, but Bun’s grip on his arm stopped him.

“Where are you going? We have work to do”, Bun sounded confused.

“I need some fresh air”, replied Oat, shaking his arm to let go of Bun’s capture. He ran outside.

_ What fresh air? It’s hotter outside, we have aircon here _ , wondered Bun, a little puzzled by his apprentice’s bizarre behaviour.

Oat ran the access ramp and saw the two police officers reaching their patrol car.

“Sarawat!”, he called him without thinking twice. Of course, his voice caught the inspector’s attention, who turned around immediately and watched the younger man get closer, now walking. “Can I talk to you for a second?”, he added. Where did this bravery come from? That’s what a man does to reach the moon again.

Inspector M. told his colleague to wait for him in the car and moved towards the doctor’s apprentice. They stood in front of each other, keeping a reasonable distance. A reasonable distance that none of them actually wanted to keep. Sarawat bit his lip unconsciously. Oat noticed and smiled but tried to hide it immediately.

“What is it?”, asked Sarawat. He moved his hand towards the doctor’s, distracted. When his fingers brushed the other man’s hand, he quickly put it at his back, holding his own with his other hand to stop it from going where it shouldn’t.

Dr. Oat looked down and then up at Sarawat’s face. His brown eyes were partially hidden by his police cap. He had a gentle look, and he now seemed calmer than he had been a moment ago while fighting with Dr. Bun. Ah, the effect the young apprentice had on him. His thick lips, slightly wet, shone just the littlest bit in the daylight. Oat knew what they tasted like, but wouldn’t mind to taste them a second time just to check, right there, right now.

“Oat”, insisted Sarawat. “I’d love to keep staring at you, but duty calls”, he added, and gave him a sweet smile.

“Oh, yes, yes”, Oat spoke finally, “I just wanted to tell you that… uh…”, he didn’t finish his sentence.

The inspector raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I won’t be here tonight”, he said finally, “I told you I would, but I’m not on nighttime call today, actually”.

Sarawat sighed and looked past Oat’s shoulder, at the trees next to the hospital. The wind had stopped now, the branches were still, as if waiting for a brim of air to shake them.

“I- I’m sorry”, declared the doctor, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I sort of… wanted to be on call tonight, but it turns out I’m not, and…”

“Stop”, interrupted the inspector, grabbing his wrist. “You’ll hurt yourself”, he added, and let the doctor’s arm fall to his side.

Oat stared at him, clueless of what to say nor reply. He wanted to tell him he’d wait for him at the police station. He wanted to tell him to go have some noodles together. He wanted to tell him he wanted to get to know him better. He wanted to ask him to kiss him there, he didn’t care who saw. He wanted to tell him to grab him by the waist and take him wherever he wanted, thank you very much.

All of these thoughts rushed through Oat’s mind uncontrollably, all at once; the realization of all those feelings fell on him like a bucket of ice water.

“Call me”, said the inspector simply.

“What?”, Oat’s voice broke in amazement.

Inspector M. didn’t reply. Instead, he took a pen out of his chest pocket and held the doctor’s hand palm up. He started writing.

“I can let you add your contact in my phone, you know?”, suggested Oat, his face getting redder and redder, Sarawat’s pen tickling his hand. He looked around. Luckily, no one was out there to see them, besides the other police officer, who was enjoying a nice scene from the co-pilot’s seat of the patrol car. He’d enjoy teasing his colleague about it during the drive back to the police station.

Sarawat shushed Oat’s suggestion away and kept writing numbers on the man’s hand.

“Call me”, he said again once he was done. He then turned around and headed to the car without looking back at him.

The car started and left, leaving Oat standing there all by himself. He looked at his palm and read it.

Wat ☾

091-657-0925

He couldn’t believe his eyes. The inspector had written his nickname. And not only that, he had drawn a little moon next to it. His heart was pounding fast inside his chest. Was he going to ask him out on a date? What did Sarawat (now Wat) want to do?

_ What will I send him? _ , he wondered, worried all of a sudden. He disregarded the thought. He would think about what to say later.

Oat made a little happy jump as he walked back to the hospital door, hoping Dr. Bun hadn’t witnessed the scene from the entrance. He now had the energy the absent coffee had been unable to provide; he was willing to finish his tasks fast to be able to leave a little early and get ready for whatever it was that was coming.

Once again, it was a hot and busy morning in the hospital of Viangpha Mork.


	3. The Dark Side Of The Moon

It was a peaceful and heated night in the village of Viangpha Mork. Cars were slowly but steadily arriving and stopping in the parking lot in front of The Mist, the trendiest pub in the village, not that there were many other pubs in the area to compare it with. Needless to say, The Mist was definitely one of the most crowded places at this time of the day; teacher Tan, the manager, would make some money.

_ Why the hell is it called ‘The Mist’? _ , wondered Dr. Oat, as a way of passing time before his date showed up. He had arrived 30 minutes early, so he had time and time to think and play mental games.  _ The Mist… like the novel by Stephen King? _ , he continued his internal mumbling,  _ But in The Mist, the mist itself is toxic… Does that mean people get intoxicated in the pub, as in… drunk? _ . He laughed out loud.  _ So funny, teacher Tan _ , he smiled, but stopped smiling immediately,  _ but also kind of creepy _ .

He looked out of his car’s window towards the entrance of The Mist. People arrived, alone or in groups, they met, patted each other on the back, hugged, a few couples even kissed. How would Inspector M. greet him? Would he pat him? Would he dare grab his hand? Would they kiss? No, they wouldn’t kiss, that he was sure of. He started to doubt himself, started to question if coming here on a date with the inspector had been a good idea. Yes, he called it a date in his head. What else could it be? They were two men who were obviously attracted to each other, meeting in a pub to get some drinks together and talk. They hadn’t verbalized it, but it  _ was _ a date.

Their Line chat to set up the date had been short and direct. Oat had first sent him a cute sticker of a cat saying hello after hours and hours of thinking how to start the conversation. He regretted it and felt awkward immediately. What he didn’t know, and probably would never know, was that the sticker had cost Sarawat a teasing comment from his colleague after he had smiled at his phone like a silly teenager. The inspector had said “So, you’re free tonight, right?”, to which the doctor’s apprentice had quickly replied with “Yes, what do you want to do?”. Sarawat sent him a “Wanna go get some drinks? My treat”. A reply had come back instantly: “Where?”. “At The Mist. 8:30. Don’t be late”, and that had been it.

Oat had left the hospital that afternoon as happy as he had ever been. He hardly ever went out, not because of lack of willingness, but because no one ever invited him, and he was too shy to ask. When he later realized what a date in The Mist meant, he panicked. He was getting out of the shower and it hit him. Meeting at the pub meant people would see them. And not just a couple of people, the place would be crowded. Maybe half of the population of his age in the village. They would see them together, and they would talk, they would speculate, trying to connect the dots. Not that the dots were hard to connect. Two men with no previous professional nor personal relationship drinking together in a pub? That was pretty clear. Or at least it was to him.

He had convinced himself that it didn’t matter what people thought of him. He did as he pleased. He was an adult and he didn't need anyone's approval. He was a nice person and a good health professional in the making and his taste wouldn’t change that, he told himself. If he wanted Sarawat to touch him everywhere, even where he had never been touched, what he did and where he did to get him was his business and no one else’s.  _ Look away if you don’t like it _ , he thought,  _ because I do like it _ .

A soft knock on his car’s window brought Oat back to Earth from his thoughts. It was Inspector M., who smiled at him shily as he waved his hand a little.

“Have I kept you waiting?”, asked Sarawat, stepping back as the doctor opened the door of his car.

“Not at all, I just parked”, lied Oat. Sarawat knew the lie because he had been looking at the doctor’s black car from his own for five minutes before stepping out and going to pick his date up. But he didn’t say anything. He found it cute.

The doctor’s apprentice got out of his car and locked it behind him. Sarawat stood there, looking at him, he didn’t seem to have any intention of moving, so Oat looked at him. He was wearing a maroon shirt, buttoned all the way up, paired with black slim-fit trousers and a pair of formal shoes, also black. His hair was down, his slightly messy fringe covering his eyebrows. He looked younger with his hair down, warmer, more approachable. He was smiling at him, as he knew he was being analyzed and studied to detail by his very observant date, soon to be a forensic doctor.

_ He looks so handsome _ , thought Oat. And objectively, he was. If you had asked anyone, they would have had no other option but to agree.

In turn, the inspector looked at Dr. Oat. He was also wearing a shirt, but his was navy blue with vertical white stripes, and he had left the two upper buttons open. His blue jeans were a bit ripped on one knee, and his very white chunky trainers brightened up his look. Sarawat had never seen him in jeans. In fact, he had never seen him wearing a shirt either; he only knew him in plain black trousers and his white hospital gown. His fringe was to the sides, showing his forehead.

_ He is beautiful _ , thought Sarawat. And objectively, he was.

“Should we go in?”, asked the doctor. He was starting to get shy with all the staring.

“Wait”, whispered the inspector. He took a quick look around. There was no one else in the parking lot, it seemed like everyone was already inside the pub. They were protected by Oat’s car and hidden by the semi-darkness of the place. Safe. He took a step forward and held the doctor’s head in his hands, following his jawline with his fingers. He stared at him, at his eyes, then at his mouth for a second too long, then back at his eyes. His thumb rubbed the corner of his lip, as if testing, exploring something that had already been discovered a night ago.

Of course, Oat let him do as he pleased, mesmerized. He closed his eyes and focused on the warm touch of Sarawat's fingertips on his face.

“Can I kiss you?”, muttered the inspector, craving palpable in his voice.

In response, Oat didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move away, didn’t say anything. He just nodded two times almost unnoticeably.  _ Please _ , he thought.

Sarawat smiled to himself and brought his lips to Oat’s, which welcomed his kiss, as if hungry for him. In a way, he was. In a way, they both were.

The inspector soon broke the kiss, which hadn’t filled them at all. If anything, it had left them starving. He felt devastated the second Oat opened his eyes and looked at his own, then looked at his mouth, as if wondering why their lips were not still together, almost confused.

“Let’s go in”, said Sarawat, and he grabbed the doctor by the wrist and took him inside.

They sat at a small table in a corner with benches instead of chairs. Sarawat ordered for them both. Some type of cocktail almost as red as blood in a tall glass. Oat had no idea about cocktails, so he took a first temptative sip. It tasted both sweet and sour.

“It’s not very strong, is it?”, asked Oat, whose knowledge of alcohol in general, and cocktails in particular, started and ended with the too numerous tequila shots he had taken in his first party in the medicine faculty and that had left him unconscious. He hadn’t dared to drink again, he was too scared. He also had a good boy image to keep.

“I don’t want it to be too strong”, replied Inspector M., drinking from his own glass, savouring his drink. “I’m not trying to get you drunk and forget stuff, I need you to remember”, he added.

“Remember what, exactly?”, inquired Dr. Oat, with a fairly well fundamented idea of what his date was referring to. He wanted to push him to say it out loud, to be honest and direct with him.

Sarawat laughed softly and smiled at him. His teeth were very white and perfectly aligned, Oat noticed. He then looked around the bar, as if to avoid Oat’s question. The Mist was a spacious building, with high ceilings and many rows of big tables where groups of friends drank and laughed and chatted about life. The broad space was lit with lights of various colors. A few people had been brave enough to venture themselves to the dance floor and were fooling around awkwardly to the sound of some foreign music he had never heard before. He looked back at his date.

“Say it”, Oat teased him, a mischievous smile on his lips. He leaned his weight on the back of his chair, expectantly. Distracted, he played with the top button of his own shirt.

Sarawat quickly realized that he was being teased, a game he was gladly going to play. He bit his lip, absent-mindedly.

“I need you to remember everything that-”, he started saying, but stopped because two guys started to fight in the bar. They were hitting and threatening each other.

Oat looked at the inspector, who was simply watching the scene, unmoved. Two other men from the pub split them and intended to kick them out.

“Shouldn’t you…”, began to say Oat, unsure of how to finish his question.

“I’m not on duty, and besides, I’m an inspector, not a security guard”, answered Sarawat as he turned to look back at him. “To be frank”, he added, “I’m none of those things tonight”.

“What are you, then?”, inquired Oat, putting both his elbows on the table and leaning closer to him, looking straight into his brown eyes.

Instead of giving him an answer, Inspector M. stood up from his bench and sat next to Oat on his side of the table. He slipped an arm over Oat’s shoulders while his other hand rested on his knee.

Oat tensed and looked around the pub. No one was paying attention to them, but he still felt nervous. On the one hand, his heart didn’t fit in his chest anymore because of how fast it was beating. He was over the moon, ecstatic, because his crush (that’s how he allowed himself to refer to Sarawat) was showing clear intentions and desire. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but believe that everyone in the building was staring at them, talking, commenting, loathing them, despising them.

“People will see us”, Oat said, as the inspector’s mouth was approaching his neck. He stopped immediately and moved back.

“I don’t mind”, he whispered, longing in his eyes. He looked so confident. Too confident to be real.

“Are you drunk?”, asked the doctor. He needed to make sure he wasn’t being treated as he was being treated because of an external incentive such as alcohol. If he was to give himself in, he wished to confirm Sarawat was fully conscious.

“How can I be drunk? I took two sips of my drink”, laughed the inspector, and he went back to his seat. He showed respect for the other man’s boundaries. If what he did made Oat uncomfortable, then he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it  _ there _ , at least.

They talked for a while about trivial things. About their jobs; Oat told him why he wanted to be a forensic doctor, as he had always enjoyed games with clues and puzzles as a child, Sarawat explained how he had become a police officer because of his desire for the world to be just and fair, but he had been too lazy to study law and wanted more action. About their families; Oat’s sister, who he loved very much, Sarawat’s brother, only one year older than him, who was also his best friend. About girls; the few girls Oat had dated in high school and in university, the many girls that had shown avid interest in Sarawat, but he had rejected almost all of them. About boys; the first boy Oat had kissed, a skinny guy from engineering who he had dated for just one week and then was left on read by, the first man Sarawat kissed, who had been Oat, right the night before.

“Really?”, inquired Oat, genuinely curious, “I’m your first one?”.

“You’re my first man, yes”, answered Sarawat, not shy at all.

“When did you know… you know…”, started Oat, not knowing how to finish his question.

“That I was attracted to you?”, asked Sarawat. Bold, direct, honest. It scared Oat a bit, but he also loved it. He was delighted. It felt amazing to be desired by a man like Inspector M.

“To men, I mean”, corrected Oat.  _ But yeah, I also want to know how you realized you wanted me _ , he thought.

“I’ve known for a while”, he replied, no hesitation in his voice. His demonstrations of confidence killed Oat bit by bit. He was jealous, he wanted to be like him. Sarawat was showing himself to him as he was, no filters. The doctor’s apprentice realized how privileged he was right now. Almost no one knew about all of the things the inspector was telling him. They hadn’t even known each other for that long, but he was being brutally honest with him. It felt as if he was seeing the dark side of the moon. A mystery to most, but not to him.

“Then how come I’m your first?”, questioned Oat.

“I never dared let anyone know”, was Sarawat’s answer. He extended his hand and reached Oat’s on the table. He squeezed, maybe a bit too hard, but the doctor didn’t complain.

They stayed like that for a minute, silent. Oat watched Sarawat’s eyes linger on his mouth, then on his neck, then back to his eyes. He was yearning, eating him with just a look. Sarawat watched Oat’s face, he licked his upper lip, distracted, his skin was slightly red, not as much the effect of the alcohol as the effect the inspector had on him.

“Should we get going?”, asked Sarawat, looking at the time in his phone. 10:37.

In response, the doctor’s apprentice stood up. The inspector hurried to the bar to pay the bill and met Oat at the door.

“Do you want to come home? My house is nearby”, said Sarawat, and he hurried to add, “If you want, that is”.

He wanted to let Oat know he wasn’t pushing him. Despite the fact that he would have gladly grabbed him by the waist, ripped his navy shirt open and kissed his chest until he left red marks on it right there where they were standing, he didn’t want Oat to feel pressured.

“I do”, replied Oat, and he started walking to the parking lot. “Which one is your car?”, he asked.

Sarawat looked around and, after making sure no one was there to see them, he hurried beside Oat and hugged him by the waist. Oat saw his chance and, gathering all his bravery, slipped his hand on the back pocket of Sarawat’s trousers. Firm, full, round, like the moon. Just like he remembered from last night.

He looked up at the sky, but he couldn’t see the moon. Of course not. He then looked at Sarawat next to him, who pulled a key out of his pocket and, right after, a grey car parked at the far end of the parking lot beeped and flashed his lights at them.

Once again, it was a peaceful and heated night in the village of Viangpha Mork.


	4. To The Moon And Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Spoiler for the final episode of Manner of Death)
> 
> I CAN'T BELIEVE MY GHOST SHIP BECAME A REAL SHIP ON THE FINAL EPISODE, I'M SO HAPPY *screams*

It was still the same peaceful and heated night in the village of Viangpha Mork. Inspector M. drove his car a little bit too fast through the streets leading to his house, his left hand resting on Dr. Oat’s thigh as if he was making sure he wouldn’t run away. But let’s be honest, the last thing the forensic apprentice wanted to do was run away.

Oat was delighted, to say the least. He was trying to focus on the road although he wasn’t the one driving, trying to distract himself from the thoughts, expectations and imaginary scenarios building up in his head. However, he couldn’t stop his eyes from looking down from time to time on his own thigh, Sarawat’s hand on his blue jeans. He had pretty hands; they were big, some veins showing from his wrist to his knuckles, long fingers with clean and perfectly clipped nails.

Sarawat stopped the car at a traffic light and he took the chance to turn his head and look at his date. Oat’s side profile was lighted by the red light; straight nose, high round cheekbones, his fringe hiding his eyebrows. He moved his hand a couple of centimeters up and squeezed Oat’s thigh, who turned his head instantly, his mouth slightly open in surprise. The inspector’s seductive smile welcomed him back to the reality of the car. It felt as if the temperature in the front row of the vehicle had increased by 10 degrees.

“What game are you playing?”, complained the doctor, resisting the temptation to move to the driver’s seat, grab Sarawat’s neck and kiss him in the mouth. He averted the inspector’s gaze and focused on the hand, still on his thigh.

“You know exactly what game I’m playing”, Sarawat’s voice echoed in the vehicle. His confidence and determination were killing Oat little by little, in the best way possible.

“You’re very impatient, you know that?”, said Oat, picking up Sarawat’s hand from his thigh and holding it on his own. He stretched his fingers to compare it to the other man’s, palm in palm. His own hands were slightly smaller, but not by much. They were almost the same height and size, after all. Finally, he interlaced his fingers with the inspector’s and squeezed.

“I know”, in response, Sarawat rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb gently. When Oat looked back up at him, he winked at the doctor, who smiled and blushed slightly.

“The traffic light has been green for a while”, Oat reminded him, giggling. The inspector looked ahead, let go the sweetest  _ oh _ the doctor had ever heard and stepped on the accelerator. The car started back immediately.

_ I’m glad I bought an automatic car _ , though Sarawat. Indeed, not having to change gears was very convenient in such situations where he had to use his hand to hold on to something more important. He pressed even harder on the gas, gaining speed.

“Hey, relax, you’re going way too fast”, advised Oat. He brought his hand, fingers still intertwined with Sarawat’s, to his mouth and kissed the inspector’s knuckles one by one. He did it with the intention to calm him down, but this action had the opposite effect on the man behind the wheel.

“Oat”, groaned Inspector M., and let out a sigh of desire. No one had ever kissed his hand before, and he couldn’t believe how pleasurable it felt; the soft touch of the doctor’s lips, the almost imperceptible flow of warm air from his mouth on his skin. “You’re distracting me”, he admitted in a whisper.

In response, Oat let go of the inspector’s hand and put it back on his own thigh. Sarawat rubbed his hand up and down. “We’re almost there”, he said.

☾ ☾ ☾

Inspector M. parked his car in front of the white stairs of the building where his apartment was. Even before he could turn off the engine, Oat opened the door of his side and jumped out of the vehicle. The inspector watched him lean on the front of the car, his back at him, waiting for him to come out. He took the laptop he was keeping from inside the glove compartment and left it on the co-pilot’s seat. He had to give it to his boss the following day and he didn’t want to forget to pick it up.

He finally got out of the car and locked it behind him. He approached Oat, who was studying him from his feet to his head.

“Should we go u-”, the doctor’s apprentice got interrupted as the inspector silenced him with his own mouth. As much as it took Oat by surprise, he didn’t complain nor think about the fact that there might be neighbours nearby. He simply put both his arms around Sarawat’s neck and opened his mouth, accepting the inspector’s (a little bit too) insistent tongue.

They stayed there for some amount of time that none of them bothered to count, the low sound of their kisses the only noise to be heard in the quiet night. When Sarawat shifted the weight of his body to lean his torso closer to the doctor’s, making his back almost touch the hood of the car, Oat cupped the inspector’s face and pushed him back to break their lips apart. The other man’s eyes sparked confusion, and he tried to kiss him back, but Oat tilted his head slightly so the inspector kissed his chin instead. The forensic apprentice giggled sweetly and, in response, Sarawat gave him another peck on the chin, then another quick peck on his neck, on the end of his jaw right next to the ear, on both his cheekbones, and finally on his nose. He did all of these very fast so that the other man didn’t have time to react. He had been trained to act fast, after all.

“Stop, Sarawat!”, chuckled Oat, moving his head away.

“I told you, didn’t I? You can call me Wat”, said Inspector M. in a soft tone. “I mean, that’s the name I wrote on your hand earlier”, he added.

“Oh”, muttered the doctor, “I didn’t know I could-”.

“Please, call me Wat”, he interrupted, giving Oat a quick peck on the lips, taking advantage of the fact that he was distracted, “no one calls me by my nickname here, but I want you to use it.”

The doctor saw the inspector’s gaze soften even more. Sarawat was being brutally honest with his feelings, he was showing his true self to a man he hadn’t even known for that long. He was being vulnerable, a risky act considering the circumstances, but he wasn’t afraid of being hurt by Oat. Out of all of the people in this damn village, for some reason, the doctor’s apprentice was the person he trusted the most. No. Not the person he trusted the most. He was the only person he trusted.

“Won’t you invite me to see your apartment, Wat?”, inquired Oat, unable to stop his lips from forming a wide smile at the thought of the police officer showing his real colors to him. He brushed the inspector’s fringe softly and followed the line of his eyebrow with his thumb.

“Alright”, answered Sarawat, breaking away from Oat and offering him his hand. “But don’t expect a luxury apartment”.

The forensic doctor looked around and scanned the seemingly old building. “Are you telling me this is not The Ritz?”, he said jokingly, and crossed his arms.

Sarawat laughed and grabbed his date’s hand, bringing him up the stairs.

As soon as the door closed with a click behind them, Sarawat hugged Oat from the back, his arms crossed on top of the doctor’s belly. He kissed him on the neck and rested his head on his shoulder. It gave Oat goosebumps, but he tried to focus on analyzing the small apartment.

The inspector had been right when he had said it was not a luxury apartment. It consisted of a small kitchen-living room space with one small navy blue sofa and a leather armchair that did not match, a rustic round table with two chairs, a big shelf with books and CD’s and movies, one small TV and four big posters of action Hollywood films hung on the white wall. It looked clean and well organized, and it was lit by a round paper lamp hanging from the ceiling, in a dim warm light. There were two other doors, the doctor guessed one was the bathroom and the other, the bedroom.

“Do you want anything to drink?”, asked the inspector, hugging him a little tighter.

“No”, was Oat’s reply.

“No?”, Sarawat was doubting if he should offer him anything to eat instead.

“No”, repeated the forensic apprentice, and he took the man’s hands and released himself from his hug, only to turn around to face him. He took Wat’s hands again and placed them on his own waist, then he rested his elbows on the other man’s shoulders, playing with a strand of hair, looking him straight in the eyes.

Inspector M. looked back at him, his eyes shining with the newfound desire to make this man happy and delighted as he’d never made anyone else before. He also felt the urge to protect him, to keep him all to himself, to make him his.

Oat smiled and closed the small space between them, kissing him on the lips for the upteenth time tonight. Sarawat let him lead, a slow kiss for the doctor to explore. He even got himself to bite the officer’s lip, that lip that the man himself bit on purpose to make him look at his mouth. He ran his fingers through his hair, he tilted his head up to kiss his jaw, then his neck. It felt good to let himself get lost in Oat’s breath, to let the other man guide him and kiss him however he wanted. He wouldn’t have minded if they stayed all night like that, making out right in front of the entrance door.

“Will you show me the rest of your apartment?”, asked Oat, moving just a couple of centimetres away from the police officer’s face.

In response, Inspector M. placed his hand firmly on the small of Oat’s back and guided him through the small living room.

“So, this is my living room”, he said pointing at the space. The forensic apprentice held his little laugh in reaction to the officer’s (probably faked) innocence. “And that’s the kitchen”, he continued, “and that’s the bathroom”, he added, pointing at one of the locked doors, as he made Oat stop in front of the second locked door. He looked at Sarawat and smiled playfully as he looked at him, then at the door, then at him again. The inspector didn’t say anything. Instead, he pointed at the doorknob, an indication for Oat to open it, which he did immediately.

They both entered a room in darkness, and its owner hurried to lit a little lamp on the bedside table. Oat looked around. A double bed with blue and grey blankets and a lot of pillows was the centre of the room, a big wooden wardrobe covered the furthest wall, another bookshelf full of books on the wall opposite the bed, a few movie posters here and there too, same as in the living room. He noticed a couple of pictures stuck to the wall next to the bed. He’d take a closer look at them later.

The inspector followed Oat’s movements, who took a quick look around and stopped for a few seconds in front of the bookshelf before sitting on the foot of the bed and looking back at him.

“Will you just stand there all night?”, asked Oat with a seductive and inviting gaze.

“Of course not”, was Wat’s answer, accompanied with two fast steps to go and stand in front of the doctor, who looked up at him with desire as well as bewilderment. He then rested a hand on his shoulder and the other hand behind his head and pushed him to the bed, torsos together, kissing him hard on the lips.

“Wait”, said Oat suddenly, to which Sarawat stopped and pushed his body up to hold a plank on top of him, a questioning look on his face.

Oat pulled himself up to the top of the bed, and rested his head on the pillows.  _ It smells like him _ , he thought to himself. He then bent his body to grab the inspector’s face in both his hands and guided him to rest his body on top of his own, bringing their lips together once more.

Sarawat raced his tongue around Oat’s mouth, his hands following the doctor’s sides and chest and neck. Oat’s hands were rushing up and down the inspector’s back, feeling the strong muscles tense. He gathered all his courage and finally placed both his hands on Sarawat’s butt, which made the inspector moan in his mouth. That felt amazing.

“Can I take off your shirt?”, asked the police officer in between kisses.

Oat smiled. “Only if I can take yours off right after”, he replied.

“Deal”, said Sarawat, moving to a sitting position on top of Oat’s crotch and bringing the other man’s torso up. Then, he slowly started to unbutton the navy blue shirt with stripes, giving little kisses on his chest and stopping to give him a couple of marks on his left collarbone, in response to which Oat breathed heavily and let go a quiet  _ agh _ .

“You know”, mentioned Sarawat casually, his lips brushing the skin on Oat’s neck as he talked, “you can be loud if you want. The left door neighbour is always playing loud music, so he deserves it, and it wouldn’t hurt the girl living in the apartment on the right door to know I have someone”.

“W-what’s wrong with the girl? Isn’t it nice that she shows interest in you? Why don’t you...”, inquired Oat, confused.

Sarawat took a moment to think of an answer. He went back to give Oat a chaste kiss on the lips and said, “Oat, I don’t want her, I want you”. He then continued to unbutton the doctor’s shirt, caressing his back from under it and kissing his neck. This time, Oat allowed himself to moan out loud.

Once the doctor’s shirt was off and had fallen to the floor next to the bed, he proceeded to unbutton Sarawat’s maroon shirt, which he did hurriedly, and then he licked one of the inspector’s nipples, which took him by surprise. A half-suppressed  _ oh my God _ left his lips, as his fingers raced through Oat’s hair, keeping his head there, an indicator of how he liked what he had just done.

When Oat let his back fall down to the pillows again, and Sarawat’s body on top of him, his thigh in between his legs, and their already grown erections felt each other through the fabric of their jeans, they both stopped moving suddenly and looked each other in the eyes, expectantly. The realization of what they were about to do together required a moment to catch a breath.

“I’ve never done this”, admitted Sarawat.

“Never?”, asked Oat, perplexed. “Not even with women?”, he added.

“Oh”, said Sarawat, “I meant I’ve never done it with a man”, he paused, and he finally added, “I told you, you’re my first one, Oat”. He sounded nervous for the first time tonight, which made Oat feel tenderness, warmth. He kissed him on the lips gently, to calm him down.

“But do you know how? … you know”, inquired the doctor.

“Yes”, the inspector was quick to reply.

“Okay”, Oat combed the inspector’s messy hair, giving him time to think what to ask or what to do next. He had never seen the inspector not feel one hundred percent confident before. Seeing that Sarawat wasn’t replying, he encouraged him. “we’ll see where this goes together, yes?”, he added.

Inspector M. smiled and nodded, but didn’t move. “Can you lead?”, he said, finally.

This question took Oat by surprise. This was not at all how he had pictured things to go between him and Wat. After all, he had been the one who had made a move on him at The Mist, he had been the one who had placed his hand on his thigh while in the car, he had been the one who had hugged him tight from behind when they entered the apartment.

In response, regardless of the images racing through his head, he turned his body and pushed Sarawat down, so that he was now on top of him. He placed his lips on top of his and kissed him hungrily, their hands racing through each other’s bodies again.

“Do you have lube and…?”, started to ask Oat.

“First drawer on the bedside table to your left”, Sarawat didn’t let him finish formulating the question.

The forensic apprentice allowed himself to take a second and admire Sarawat’s face. Swollen lips, red cheeks, messy hair. Simply mesmerizing. He smiled and whispered, “Great*”.

* (Author’s note) In case you were wondering, yes, this is a reference to the actor’s name. No, I’m not sorry.

☾ ☾ ☾

The sound of Oat taking a shower accompanied Sarawat through the rewind of the events that had taken place in his room just moments ago. He had tried things he had never done before, he had experienced sensations that nobody else had made him feel before, he had allowed himself to scream as he never had, he’d made the doctor say his nickname at the top of his lungs, and had loved how it sounded.

When the doctor got out of the shower, white towel around his waist, the inspector simply looked at him and said “Hi”.

“Are you okay?”, he asked, looking from the door.

“Yes”, was Sarawat’s answer.

“You sure?”, he insisted.

“I told you before and I’ll tell you again: I’m good, and what we did was so good, okay?”, replied the inspector, smiling sweetly at him.

“Okay”, Oat hesitated for a second. “Do you want me to stay, or should I go?”, he asked finally, quite sure of what Sarawat’s response would be, but it still was a question that needed to be asked.

“Stay”, said Wat simply. He stood up and approached Oat, he put his hands around his waist and kissed him on the cheek. “Pick any clothes you need from the wardrobe. I’ll go take a shower”, he added, and he left.

Oat felt like he was living a dream. As if he was an astronaut who had been to the moon and was now back to Earth, unsure of what he had done, unsure about whether the places he had been were real or not.

The forensic apprentice took a black shirt with the word POLICE in white lettering on the chest, probably from when Sarawat was doing his training, and a pair of black basketball shorts. He then sat on the bed and looked at the small pictures on the wall. One of them was a photo of a boy in a school uniform, probably Wat when he was little, because his smile looked exactly like his. Next to it was a photo of him next to another man a bit shorter than him; they looked very alike, so Oat assumed he was his brother. Finally, the last image pictured Wat with a dark haired German shepherd, a police dog, probably.

“That’s my police dog. She was shot last year in an operation”, Sarawat’s voice next to him startled Oat a bit.

“Oh, Wat, I’m so sorry”, he said, and placed a hand on the other man’s knee. “What was her name?”, he asked.

“Ting”, he answered.

“You named your dog ‘kitten’?”, Oat giggled. He thought that coming up with that name was super cute of Sarawat.

When the police officer was about to reply, a loud crash coming from outside surprised them both. Then, the alarm of a car started beeping, loudly.

“Shit!”, Sarawat shouted, and he ran to the door, wearing only his underwear and still holding his towel. When he got outside, the window of his car had been broken with a brick and, of course, the laptop he had left on the passenger’s seat wasn’t there. He cursed under his breath and stopped the alarm. After that, he went back to his room, despair and resignation in the air around him.

“Was that your car?”, asked Oat, as he approached him and took his head in his hands. Sarawat nodded.

“I think I know exactly who did it”, he said, “but I won’t be able to prove it”. He let go a quiet sob. “I’m screwed”, he breathed out.

In response, Oat hugged him and placed his hand between his shoulder blades. “It’ll be alright, you’ll see things better in the morning”, he said softly to his ear.

“Will I?”, he wondered.

“I don’t know”, admitted the doctor, his hand now on the inspector’s head, “but what I do know is that you’ll wake up with me next to you, and I guess that’s somewhat better”.

Sarawat hid his face on Oat’s neck and hugged him tighter. “Thank you”, he mumbled.

Once again, it was still the same peaceful and heated night in the village of Viangpha Mork.


End file.
